


That Night in the Barn

by StarryEyes2000



Series: Christopher Pike/Reader Christopher Pike/Any Ship [7]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Baby Animals, F/M, Family, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryEyes2000/pseuds/StarryEyes2000
Summary: Pure fluff for this difficult and scary time. With golden retrievers! And kittens! And a baby horse! Established relationship.
Relationships: Christopher Pike/Any Ship, Christopher Pike/Reader
Series: Christopher Pike/Reader Christopher Pike/Any Ship [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954180
Kudos: 11





	That Night in the Barn

**Author's Note:**

> I know little about horses other than they are taller than me and intimidating. I apologize in advance for anything I got wrong.

It is a cloudless still night. With nightfall the desert air has turned sharp, the temperature cold. After gathering a few items I head to the barn. The two golden retrievers dart in and around me as I walk, dedicated to their mission of coaxing out my inner ‘dog person’. I am getting use to the intricate dance, merging with their rhythm. Which is progress, the first couple of days I found coordinating among 10 legs awkward, ending up on my backside in the dirt a few times. Their mission is still a work in progress.

Slowly I and the dogs, Faraday and Cecilia, named for Chris’ father’s two favorite scientists, Michael Faraday and Cecilia Helena Payne-Gaposchkin, reach the barn. The term barn being a relative one as it is newer, larger and more modern than the main house and the stalls are bigger than my first apartment. And have better furniture.

I stop at the fence surrounding a small paddock beside the barn where Chris is tending a pregnant mare. The dogs halt as well, sitting beside me, waiting for my next move. They haven’t left my side since we arrived last month leading to several amusing moments. Chris in his most stern commander’s voice ordering them out of our bedroom. They slowly raising their heads to see what the fuss was about before resuming their nap at the end of our bed. Chris wrangling them outside the door. Undeterred, they on the other side of the closed door, whining, adding a unique twist to the romantic atmosphere.

This visit home has been a tonic for Chris after two difficult back to back missions. And an opportunity for me to see facets of his personality that are less apparent on Enterprise. I am frequently asked how Chris Pike the man is different from Captain Christopher Pike. The differences are minor although Chris the man is _more_. More mischievous, funnier, sometimes irreverent. Kinder if that is possible. Unreservedly indulging his insatiable curiosity with an eclectic collection of subjects and experiences. Completely relaxed. More at peace. Here in the vast open stillness of the desert he is as much in his element as among the stars.

Leaning against the fence with my arms folded on top of it, I watch silently as he leads the mare, letting her set the pattern and tempo. They pace and walk in circles. Sometimes stand still. Then he strokes the mare’s flank. Murmurs to her in a calm reassuring tone. Rests his forehead against hers. She is beautiful, with a chocolate colored coat, a flaxen tail and mane. A patch of white extending from her forehead down her muzzle.

The man and horse move as one. Chris’ instincts reading her and responding, just as he does with his ship and crew. He is already aware of my presence. “Don’t come too close, she’s unsettled.” He warns.

I admire the muscles rippling under his shirt.

“Cecilia, here.” Chris calls.

I open the gate and the smaller of the two dogs approaches and sits in front of the horse. The mare, Darcy, whinnies and lowers her head. The dog sighs and reaches up. They nuzzle. Darcy relaxes. Chris backs away toward the gate with slow measured steps. He points and says, “Cecilia, stay.” She does.

Now at the gate he remarks drily, “I appear to have a bit of authority left.” Inclining his head toward the bench in front of the barn, he settles there positioned to monitor the mare out of her field of vision. I follow, handing him a sweater and a thermos of hot coffee. Faraday follows me.

“She’s definitely foaling. But still in stage one so it will be a few hours.”

I nod. “Did you reach your mother?”

“Yes, they’ve decided to stay there.”

Thoughtfulness is a common trait in the Pike family. Last week his mother announced they, his parents, were going to treat themselves to time away which had been impossible during Darcy’s eleven-month pregnancy as she would only entrust her favorite mare to Chris. Rather than soak up every scarce precious moment with their son, they gave us a gift. For the first time in our relationship, we are completely alone, able to lose ourselves in one another, in our own little world. Without the incessant demands of a starship. Without the constant entourage surrounding the commanding officer. With the privacy that is almost non-existent on board the ship.

Part of me yearns to resign our commissions and stay here.

“I want to keep an eye on her. You should go back inside though, where it’s warmer.” Chris urges.

“I’ll wait with you. I brought sandwiches; you should eat.”

He nods absentmindedly as he sips the coffee, his attention focused on the horse. I sigh, perhaps if I put the food in his hand, he will eat it absentmindedly. “Why Darcy?”

“Huh?”

“The horse’s name, why did your mother choose Darcy?”

“She likes Jane Austin’s books,” is the distracted answer.

“But Darcy is a male character.”

“Oh yeah that. I don’t know why she chose that particular name.” When he turns in my direction, I see his eyes are twinkling with mischief. And fondness. “My father says it’s best not to ask my mother those types of questions as it only leads to more confusion.” Based on his expression I wonder if his answer refers to his parents or to quizzing me. A subject I plan to explore at a more appropriate time.

It would never be admitted to, but he is much like his father which sparks frequent debates and spirited differences of opinions between them. And an argument here and there. I suspect the latter was common during Chris’ teenage years. And, like his father, he rarely skips a teachable moment.

“It’s rare for a mare to foal in the late fall. Normally we’d turn her out into one of the fenced pastures for the delivery. They get restless during labor and can injure themselves in a confined space. But’s it’s too cold this time of year for the baby to be born outside. That’s one of the reasons I want to keep an eye on her.”

Another unexpected Chris nugget. I know he adores horses, it never occurred to me he was this knowledgeable about caring for them. Though it’s not surprising.

Chris continues, “Golden retrievers work well with horses, Cecilia and Darcy were both born here and have always been together.”

At that moment, sensing my attention was no longer devoted to him, Faraday lays his head on my lap. I rummage through my basket and offer a treat.

Chris inclined his head towards the dog, “You are getting more comfortable with them.”

“They are steadily and patiently overcoming my hesitation. It’s a new experience for me. I never had pets.”

He shakes his head, still unable to reconcile our differing childhoods, his in a small close-knit family and mine in a large distanced one. Having now met his parents I am beginning to understand what I missed.

The lesson continues. “Mares prefer to foal in private and can halt labor if they are not happy with the conditions. It’s her first pregnancy and she’s nervous.”

“What’s her breed?”

“Rocky Mountain. Which is a misnomer. They were first bred nearer the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. Moonshiners used them to haul kegs during Prohibition. They are gentle, comfortable rides, easy to manage, and good with children and those who need a little extra help. We have two breeding mares, Darcy and her older sister. My mother trains their offspring as therapy horses … Wait, why are you smiling?”

_Because you are incredibly sexy when in professor mode._ “I was imagining a different life. One here, you raising horses and me … well, I don’t know I’ve only ever lived in the city. Maybe I will learn to cook.

He looks doubtful and slightly … alarmed? At the very least cautious.

“Very funny. Or you could teach me how to fly.”

Now he looks frightened and mutters under his breath, “Not likely, I’ve seen you drive a ground car.” Then deftly changes the subject. I am pleased to see he finished the sandwich.

“Did you make your move?” He asks.

Last year Chris decided he would teach me chess. Being an all-around good guy, he plays well below his level so if I manage to win, which is rare, it doesn’t feel like he threw the game. A few months ago I realized my best approach against a strategic and tactical genius was chaos. And large number theory. Given enough unplanned illogical moves I should, at some point, stumble into victory. Or at the very least flummox Chris as he tries to figure out the pattern behind my non-strategy. Once his father caught on to my approach, he offered several suggestions to heighten the anarchy. I am utilizing one of them now.

“Yes.” I suppress a grin.

The barn cat walks by carrying one of her new kittens by the scruff of the neck. She’s raising her litter in one of the empty stalls. Now five weeks old, the runt is proving to be the fearless one, audaciously sneaking away to explore the world.

Chris chuckles. “I see Junior has escaped again.”

“I think your father named him _Christopher Junior_.” I remind him.

“Yes, wasn’t that amusing,” is his unamused reply.

He holds out his hand and the conversation lapses as we sit, hand in hand, waiting and watching. I doze, my head on his shoulder. When I wake, I am covered with a blanket. Chris is again leading the mare as she walks. Periodically she lays down and rolls. Blinkingly sleepily, I join him at the fence.

“She’s helping the foal get into position. It won’t be long now.” He answers my unspoken question. “Once hard labor starts the delivery happens quickly.”

Returning to the barn I see he has gathered supplies – warm water, soap, towels and blankets. Surgical scissors. Fresh drinking water. I move out of the way as Chris leads Darcy inside.

“Stay back in case she thrashes.” He removes the lead and gingerly cleans and preps her before joining me at the doorway. The dogs are now confined to the house. Minutes tick by. Darcy lays on her side. Chris places a hand on my shoulder to get my attention and whispers. “The front legs will present first, then the nose and head … you will see a white …”

All I see is red. He grabs the scissors and splashes alcohol over his hands before hurrying to Darcy’s side. “In the next room, portable oxygen and a mask to administer it. Get it.”

By the time I get back Chris is on his knees cutting through what looks like a red sac. Under the incision is a white sac which he is palpitating. “Finding the legs and nose.” He explains. Once certain the scissor blades are clear of both, he cuts through the membrane freeing the foal and delivering it.

The foal is very still. “Bring the oxygen.” He directs calmly while removing the rest of the sac. After regulating the flow he slips the cylinder over the foal’s muzzle. Seeing my troubled look he adds, his tone soft and gentle, “He’s OK, just needs a little oxygen. Hold the mask in place while I get him repositioned.”

Once the baby is resting on his chest with both feet forward, the chest expands, and I can see the ribs move with each breath. “Count the breaths while I check Darcy. When he gets to over 60 breaths per minute remove the oxygen and keep monitoring. If he dips below 60, start the oxygen again.”

Chris has snapped into Captain mode and moved on without waiting for acknowledgement. I utter ‘aye, sir’, reacting automatically as well. He grins at me. I roll my eyes in response.

After a few minutes of the supplemental oxygen, the foal is breathing steadily and normally on its own. Finished with his exam Chris lays fresh hay. Pulling off his now damp and mucked up sweater, he puts a finger in front of his lips and quietly joins me at the doorway. We wait, arms entwined around the other’s waist.

Soon Darcy rolls into her stomach and gracefully stands. She nuzzles the foal and licks his coat, cleaning it. When satisfied she nudges the baby encouraging him to stand. He’s resistant but as the nudges get increasingly insistent, he struggles to his knees. After another nuzzle and push, he tries to stand. And fails. After a few more attempts he manages to stay erect despite the wobbly legs.

I smile up at Chris and he leans down and nuzzles my cheek and neck. I hold my breath as the foal takes his first tentative step. Then another. And a few more, confidence increasing each time. He moves close to his mother and butts his head against her side. She reaches down touching her forehead to his. It’s one of those perfect moments, the ones you frame in your mind and can instantly recall.

Once the first meal is consumed Chris removes the supplies and we retreat to a carved wooden loveseat in the hallway leaving the mother and child to continue bonding.

“I’ll get you some dry clean clothes. More coffee too?” I ask as I stand.

He reaches for my hand and pulls me back. “No need. Stay with me. One more milestone, then we can get some sleep.”

_Oh, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind right now._ By the look in his eyes, I am not alone in that sentiment.

“What happened?”

“A rare but often deadly complication. The placenta separated from the mother and started to deliver first depriving the foal of oxygen. When that happens there is no time to call for a vet. I cut through it to free the white fetal sac and then the foal.”

Dawn is starting to break. We talk about plans for the rest of our vacation. I suggest we cancel the beach and the mountains to stay here.

Chris shakes his head. “No, we divided the time equally and those are the places you picked for your half.” But I can tell from his tone of voice and brightening expression he’d be happy and pleased to remain here. “Have you decided whether to accept the offer for your apartment?”

I had planned to sell my apartment, reluctantly accepting that maintaining a residence we are unlikely to use for the next several years isn’t practical. Yet once I received an offer, a good one, I hesitated. No longer.

“Yes I am accepting it.” I lean in for a quick kiss. “Here, with you, is the home I want now.”


End file.
